


A Small Break from Routine

by obsession_inc



Category: The Office (US)
Genre: Gen, Improv
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-22
Updated: 2007-02-22
Packaged: 2017-10-05 18:46:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsession_inc/pseuds/obsession_inc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dwight has an unexpected interruption in his morning schedule.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Small Break from Routine

**Author's Note:**

> My second entry into the Improv!fic, with elements suggested by [](http://honey-wheeler.livejournal.com/profile)[**honey_wheeler**](http://honey-wheeler.livejournal.com/) (listed at the end of the story). Five elements, two hours, no beta. All goofs and mistakes are my own.

Dwight makes a habit of being the first one to arrive at Dunder-Mifflin every business morning. There are routine duties to complete, all of which are small in and of themselves but which, taken together, make the company run smoother, the way that a tiny amount of bacon grease applied along the sides of a window sash makes it easier to open and shut (and also, according to Schrute family lore, creates an extra layer of protective sealant which is important for extending the life of wooden window frames). Dwight arrives at 7:15 AM, which gives him thirty minutes before his co-workers begin to straggle in, and in those thirty minutes he completes the following:

One, he debriefs the security guard in case there have been any developments overnight. Two, he picks up and distributes the newspapers and magazines that arrive at the front door (the _Wall Street Journal_ for Stanley, the _Economist_ for Oscar, _Time_ magazine for Phyllis, the Scranton _Times-Tribune_ for Michael). Three, he turns on the lights and replaces any light bulbs which have gone dim or burnt out overnight. Four, he checks phone and internet status, and, if necessary, makes calls to repair any problems. Five, he inspects the floor for any irregularities (holes in the carpet, peeling tiles, unsecured power cords) which could pose a danger to foot traffic. Six, he arranges the items on Michael's desk in an aesthetically pleasing manner. Seven, he waters the plants. Eight, he sanitizes his work surface (desktop, computer keyboard, mouse, telephone receiver and buttons).

Often he can complete these tasks in less than thirty minutes. Once he did it in twenty-two. Efficiency runs strong in the Schrute line.

This morning, Dwight walks through the doors of the Dunder-Mifflin elevator and is aware, immediately, of a departure from the normal morning environment: some of the lights are already on. Not all of them, however, which is further cause for suspicion and for caution in dealing with the situation; clearly, whatever intruder is on the premises has selected the lights based on which ones could be seen from the street. The lights in Michael's office are not on, nor are the ones in the conference room, nor are the ones in the main office area. The light in the kitchen area, however, is on, and when Dwight edges stealthily to the water cooler in order to peer into the kitchen, he can see that the lights on the far side of the office are on, also. He will need to have a word with Michael about the efficacy of building security; clearly, something has been tested and found lacking.

There is motion in the kitchen. Dwight flattens himself against the wall and checks his surroundings for possible defensive weaponry. He finds none at hand; he will have to go into this situation unarmed. Surprise will be key to victory. He swivels quickly, kicks open the door to the kitchen, and crouches in a battle-ready stance. "Freeze!" he barks.

A small girl with blonde hair is sitting at the kitchen table, holding what appears to be a red crayon in one hand. Her feet swing under the seat, falling pitifully short of reaching the floor. "Hi," she says.

"Hello." Dwight frowns at her. "This is not a place for little girls. Why are you here?"

"'Cause my daddy said to stay here." She watches Dwight with her incongruously large eyes, apparently analyzing the threat he poses before sharing further information, yet, at the same time, refraining from showing fear. Dwight approves of this behavior. After several moments, the girl offers Dwight her crayon. "Do you want to draw?"

"No, I do not," Dwight says. He approaches the table out of curiosity and examines the drawings, abstract scrawls of color on what appears to be standard 8 ½ x 11 white multipurpose copier/printer paper. "What are you drawing?"

The little girl points to a large orange blob. "This is my fish. His name is Albert."

"That doesn't look like a fish," Dwight tells her. "Also, you have neglected to draw either a fish bowl or an aquarium."

"His bowl is over here." The girl points to the other side of the piece of paper, a vaguely oval-shaped blue blob. "Albert jumped out of his bowl. Daddy says he wanted to go to heaven really fast."

"Nonsense." Dwight does not believe in any life after death where animals are concerned. In farm life, sentimentality about animals is discouraged. "What's this?" he asks, pointing to a brown blob with slashes of blue hurtling down on it from above.

"That's Darwin. He lives next door, but he's not inside right now, he's in the yard. He's a dog," she adds offhandedly. "He barks a lot and I don't like him."

The brown blob does not look like a dog any more than the orange blur looks like a fish. "If that is supposed to be a dog, then what do the blue lines signify?"

"It's raining. He doesn't get to go inside, though, because he's a bad dog and he deserves to get rained on."

Dwight is pleased by the small girl's fierce attitude, although her artistic abilities still leave much to be desired. "Historically, water has been used as a torture device all over the world. Beyond the well-known Chinese water torture, there is the forced ingestion technique, water boarding, and dunking, which was used most famously in medieval times for forcing confessions out of suspected witches or heretics." He sits down next to the little girl and selects a crayon from the pile, a chubby brown one, and pulls a fresh piece of paper in front of him. "An illustration might help, if I may. This--" he sketches a chair, which comes out looking unfortunately two-dimensional-- "is the chair that they'd tie the suspect onto." He added a stick figure and, as an afterthought, a cone-shaped witch's hat. "Then, here, the chair would be tied with ropes to a pole-- here's the pole-- which could be operated by the torturers, generally a simple lever. The suspect would be intermittently submerged into the water--" he selected a blue crayon to sketch out a stream below the stick figure's chair-- "and every time, they'd keep the suspect under for a few seconds more than the last, until he or she confessed to the crime they were accused of. You see?"

"Yeah." The little girl examines his drawing politely. Dwight watches the light dawning in her face. This, he finds, is a surprisingly pleasant experience. Perhaps in another life he was a schoolteacher. His reverie is interrupted by the girl's tiny hand tugging at his sleeve. "I'm hungry," she announces.

Dwight considers this. As the adult in this situation, it is his responsibility to provide for the physical needs and well-being of the child, but he is at a loss as to what he should feed her. "Come," he says, and helps the little girl hop off the chair and onto the floor. Her small hand latches around his, and he stoops slightly in order to let her keep her tenuous grip as he leads her to the break room.

The vending machine is sadly bereft of nutritional treats which would suit a growing girl, and Dwight frowns at it, weighing the benefits of various combinations of refined grain and high-fructose corn syrup. "There," the girl says, pointing at a package of Red Vines. "Please?"

This is hardly an acceptable breakfast, but Dwight is fond of Red Vines himself and, as such, can hardly argue without being hypocritical. Angela would have better willpower, he thinks; she has often discussed her beliefs on withholding certain foods from children until they are of an age to make proper decisions regarding them. Dwight, however, finds himself purchasing the Red Vines for the child and leading her back to the lunchroom, approving of the enthusiastic way that she bounces as she walks, in celebration of her treat. Physical play is important to the development of good cardiovascular health for children.

Toby is standing in the lunchroom as they enter. "Sasha! Oh, thank God, you found her," he exclaims. "Sorry, her daycare doesn't accept kids before seven-thirty, and I had to get in early to work out a-- never mind. Thanks." He leans down, and the small girl-- Sasha, Dwight surmises-- skips across the room to him. "Hey, honey, can you say thank you to Mr. Schrute?"

"Oh." Sasha comes back across the room and tugs at Dwight's hand until he squats down to be on her level. "Thank you," she says solemnly, and kisses him on the cheek.

"You're welcome," Dwight says in a matching tone, and watches as she goes back to Toby.

It is only after they have left the room that Dwight notices the time, and realizes that he only has five minutes remaining to complete his early-morning duties. This, he thinks, will be a real challenge.

But not an impossible one.

**Author's Note:**

> The elements, as given by [](http://honey-wheeler.livejournal.com/profile)[**honey_wheeler**](http://honey-wheeler.livejournal.com/): "Time magazine, red vines, a suicidal goldfish, Angela, and medieval torture instruments (bonus points for an Iron Maiden)." Sadly, no bonus points for me. Started at 7:56 AM; completed at 10:04 AM.


End file.
